


Nepenthe

by wonderlou



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anorexia, Body Dismorphia, Eating Disorder, M/M, hints of Bulimia, insecure!louis, larry stylinson - Freeform, photographer!harry, self deprecation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-11 10:08:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2063988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonderlou/pseuds/wonderlou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Louis breathes out a soft sigh, pulling down both of his sleeves so that they settle around his palms. He lifts his shirt next, rolling it up and tucking the bottom hem under his chin so it stays in place and out of the way. His stomach is harder to look at. His ribs stick out just a little bit, but in Louis’ eyes, the fat is inevitable. His hipbones can always stick out a little more and so can his ribs, his collarbones. All of his bones can stick out more than they do. Louis just wants to be skin, skin and strong muscles and bones."</p><p>or</p><p>Louis’ anorexia has him in a bad place where everything is wrong and love is foreign, where self-esteem is nonexistent and reasons to accept are miniscule. Harry’s accidentally sucked in and he doesn’t want to come out unless Louis’ there with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> And I am alone, so don't speak  
> I find war, and I find peace  
> I find no heat, no love in me
> 
> And I am low and unwell  
> This is love, this is hell  
> This sweet plague that follows me
> 
> And my body's weak  
> Feel my heart giving up on me  
> I'm worried it might just be  
> And my body's weak  
> Feel my lungs giving up on me  
> I'm worried it might just be  
> Something my soul needs  
> Something my soul needs

Louis sits in front of his mirror like he does every third day, staring straight into his own eyes. This isn’t as much of a routine as it is a habit nowadays, and he finds that he sits in front of it even more than he looks into it to check his outfit for the day. He doesn’t look at anything but his alternatingly blue eyes for the first chunk of time; he allows his gaze to fall just to his collarbones. That’s it. Before he can even think about looking any further, he’s closing his eyes and reaching for his Sharpie marker.

He only ever does this when he is alone; when Niall is in class or with his other friends, or when most of his dorm neighbors are studying in the library or having dinner. He can’t possibly have anyone distracting him, because this is his Louis time. It’s when he can bear to look at himself for just a few minutes, and if anyone is to intervene, his focus will end up completely ruined, and he’ll be forced to look at himself.

Other people will maybe have to look at him, too.

It takes a lot for Louis to look at himself, and Louis is completely aware of it. Even when he’s been good for the entire day, entire week, he feels gross, gross and fat and like he can’t stay in one place too long before the ground caves beneath him and everyone surrounding him falls through the earth. It’s been a problem ever since junior year, Louis’ issues with his appearance and literally everything else, and, as ashamed as he feels for having to admit it, Louis can’t let it go like he wanted to.

Louis uncaps his Sharpie, holding it in between his teeth as he rolls up his shirt sleeves. He keeps his eyes up, and he never has to remind himself to, because he knows what will happen if he so much as dared to look down when he is not _ready_.

“Alright, Tomlinson, five minutes,” he murmurs to his reflection, and he turns to gaze at his arm, briefly running his fingers over the soft, tan skin. His arms are the most bearable – it isn’t the biggest deal. His wrists jut out and Louis can see the two veins that run up the length of his inner arm if he does so much as close his fist. He likes it that way.

“Five minutes,” he repeats, taking the marker into his right hand. He holds his left arm out in front of him and brings the tip of the black marker to the spot of skin just below the base of his hand, tracing over the letters that were there a few days ago.

He isn’t sloppy, but he’s quick, and he’s done before one minute is even up. Capping his marker, he reads over his word, running his fingers over it before looking at it through the mirror, a small, contented smile on his face. It isn’t exactly a tattoo, but it’s the closest thing he can do that won’t involve some sort of explanation, or pain, or permanence.

‘DON’T’

It’s a simple word that held a lot of meaning; it’s the one that comes to Louis’ mind first when he thinks about slipping up. It’s a strong word, one that brings disappointment if disobeyed.

It’s probably Louis’ favorite word.

Louis uncaps the marker again and holds it in his left hand, baring his right arm out to himself. He can never trace over the faded word on this arm as neatly as he can with the other, but he attempts to be precise, his pressure delicate.

‘EAT’

Louis breathes out a soft sigh, pulling down both of his sleeves so that they settle around his palms. He lifts his shirt next, rolling it up and tucking the bottom hem under his chin so it stays in place and out of the way. His stomach is harder to look at. His ribs stick out just a little bit, but in Louis’ eyes, the fat is inevitable. His hipbones can always stick out a little more and so can his ribs, his collarbones. All of his bones can stick out more than they do. Louis just wants to be skin, skin and strong muscles and bones.

He blinks a few times into the mirror, staring at his stomach. Everything he writes is backwards when he looks into the mirror, but he doesn’t care; as long as the message goes through, he’s fine.

‘FATASS’, he writes next, the words big and ugly like him, but they remain clean, which is the difference. That is not him. Louis is not clean; Louis is dirty, a dirty pig – a dirty, sick, fat pig. The first letter is backwards, as are the ‘ _S_ ’s, but the word is still very effective.

He caps the marker and does the same thing he’d done with his arms; he runs his fingers over the word, over the red skin that is just now beginning to fade back into its normal shade of tan. He’d rubbed off the words the last time he’d written them on his body, furiously, until it hurt to even touch the hot skin. He’d been distracted then, and he hadn’t let the words sit for ten minutes before he was in the bathroom with the loofa he’d stolen from Niall.

Louis has two minutes left. He grabs the Sharpie yet again and outstretches his legs so that his toes touch the body-length mirror in front of him. The more he looks at his thighs, the more he hates them, and they are even worse than his belly and his hips to him. He doesn’t think about that, though, because as long as he can keep them disguised in baggy sweatpants and overlarge sweaters, no one has to see them but himself.

Writing over the faded letters from three days ago, Louis hums quietly to himself, content because he is almost done. He can get dressed and go meet Niall at the hill in front of the main building of the University so they can watch the freshmen wander around with confusion as to where to go.

On one thigh, he writes ‘UGLY’, the letters dark and noticeable. The word stretches from under his hip to above his knee, and it’s a perfect word that contrasts against him – a big imperfection. On his second thigh, he writes ‘HORRID’. The words will give him enough encouragement for the next few days, so when he wakes up hungry, he’ll see his own words in the mirror as he showers before class.

Louis pulls himself to his feet and immediately turns away from his mirror, collecting his clothes from the dresser beside it. He dresses quickly; first he changed out of his sweater and into a looser, more fat-disguising T-shirt, where he pulls the sleeves down so that they fall near his fingers. The base of his shirt falls past his hips – the shirt is two sizes too big, one of Niall’s from when he’d gotten the wrong size soccer tee during his senior year in high school.

His jeans are next. They’re a size too small, and the waist squeezes around him so tightly that it’s sometimes hard for him to breathe properly, not to mention how it leaves marks that are sore and angry-red and itchy when he tales his pants off. However, that doesn’t stop him from pulling them up and over his belly, fastening them so the cold metal of the button settles over his naval. If he’s wearing a size too small, he can do what he must to eventually fit comfortably into them.

His socks and shoes are quick to come on, too, and after spending all of three seconds making sure he isn’t stepping on the backs of his TOMS, he grabs his phone and dorm keys before leaving.


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis’ anorexia has him in a bad place where everything is wrong and love is foreign, where self-esteem is nonexistent and reasons to accept are miniscule. Harry’s accidentally sucked in and he doesn’t want to come out unless Louis’ there with him.
> 
> Or:
> 
> Louis doesn’t love himself enough, and Harry’s got extra love to give.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two for you all! Tell me what you think? Lots of love xx.

“Look at that girl over there,” Niall murmurs, and he rocks to the side far enough for his shoulder to collide with Louis’, sending Louis out of his train of thought and into rapidly blinking. He glances up from the fresh green glass that tickles his ankles, his eyes following the path of Niall’s pointed finger, which has just a bit of honey mustard on it.

“Which one?” He asks with as much interest as he can muster, tucking his hair back behind his left ear and gazing down the hill. He and Niall sit on top of it, in front of the small cluster of trees that keep the bright light of the sunset from blinding them. The administrative and head office of the university sits directly below the hill; students who are new to the university are filing in and out. Some have maps, some look frustrated, and some carry textbooks that add up to weigh more than them.

Louis isn’t sure why Niall insists that they do this every semester; he thinks that it’s because he likes looking at the pretty women in the tight shorts that mark the continuing of summer. But he can never be sure with Niall. It doesn’t really matter, though, because Louis just needs something to do other than sit in his dorm and think about the new school year, which is just two days away.

“The one in the crop top with the curly hair.” Niall’s voice is muffled as he eats his dinner, which is almost always a quick turkey and cheese sandwich with dressing (“It gets too dry,” Niall explains every time, even when Louis cringes as pale yellow sauce drips out of his sandwich). As college sophomores, both Niall and Louis are about as broke as broke can get, even with Louis’ monthly allowance and Niall’s job at a music store. Louis picks at the few banana slices he’d brought along with him in a small Tupperware container, his stomach growling insistently every time he stares down at his seven little portions. Pressing a hand to his belly, he hums and murmurs, “I see.”

He feels guilty eating. He always does, always has, and some days are always better than others. This morning he’d had a cup of tea – completely plain. He’d just needed something that would settle his belly. He’d had that as well as a few carrot sticks later on in the afternoon. That had already been on the verge of too much, but he’d told himself right before he left his dorm that a few banana slices wouldn’t kill him.

“She’s pretty hot,” Niall states, and Louis rolls his eyes, his lips quirking up into a small smirk. He looks down and disregards the way his hair falls back into his face. He’s always had a weird best friend/brother relationship with Niall; they’ve lived with one another since they were both freshmen, lost and confused and hot what with the AC having been broken in their dorm room for a week. Louis has him naked and Niall slaps his bottom on a weekly basis; Louis helps with the homework while Niall sets Louis up with boys who he’s too awkward around. Even though Louis doesn’t ever date any of them, it’s Niall who keeps Louis in line when it comes to being social, honestly, and Louis only wishes he knew how to pay him back.

“Why don’t you see if she needs help with her books,” Louis suggests, picking at a banana slice before placing it between his lips. He chews it slowly and into a soft, mushy thing that’ll be easy enough to throw back up if needed.

“She looks taller than me, though. I don’t even know if she’s wearing heels.”

Louis laughs, pulling his knees up to his chest and setting his container of food into the grass. He is glad to have times like these after something with as much seriousness as what he’d been doing half an hour ago in his dorm. Niall is clueless; happy and bright and sunny, and all of that tends to pour into Louis, allowing him to temporarily dump out the bad thoughts that are constantly in his head.

“That’s a shame.” Louis clicks his tongue along the roof of his mouth, setting his chin atop his knees. From behind him, he hears a poorly executed fake cough, and Louis glances over his shoulder, back at the small gathering of trees.

A boy with a book bag stands in front of the cluster of green, the scrappy thing hanging off of one of his shoulders. In both of his hands he clutches a camera, fingers wrapped delicately around the nose of it. He’s tall and lanky and his knees turn inward, Louis notices, and he looks up at his face, pushing his hair back out of his eyes so he can properly see the boy’s green ones. They’re young-looking, his eyes, bright with curiosity much like Niall’s. Louis briefly wonders where everyone is finding all this interest in the world. He has his hair tied up in a navy blue scarf that clashes terribly with the mossy green sweater he has on, but not too badly with the light brown, leather shoes that look like they’ve been worn one time too many.

“Hi,” the boy speaks, smiling small, and Niall turns around for a second, as Louis can see from the corner of his eye. He hums before facing forward again, clearly disinterested. “I was wondering if I could sit back here,” the stranger says next, “I just wanted to take a few pictures. I’ll be quiet, I promise.”

Louis’ eyebrows pinch together, and he slowly nods his head. As confused as he is, he isn’t going to be rude, of course not. “Are you, like, going to take pictures of us?” he asks, gesturing weakly to Niall, and the boy quickly shakes his head and smiles a little more, letting his book bag fall to the ground.

“No, just the hill and the head office,” he confirms shyly, sitting down and crossing his legs. He leans against the bark of one of the trees and fiddles with his camera for a moment, and Louis smiles as a silent response before turning back around. He isn’t sure what this kid will possibly find so fascinating about a building and dying grass, but he isn’t one to judge.

“I think he’s cute,” Niall muses matter-of-factly, his voice quiet, and, with a hiss, Louis hits him hard in the side. “Did he tell you his name?” he questions next, and Louis shakes his head no, looking down at his feet. Niall barks out a laugh before turning around, placing a hand behind him so he doesn’t topple down the hill. Louis feels like he’s going to want to push him. “Hey, mate?”

Louis mutters out his best friend’s name accusingly, but he says nothing else as he listens to the conversation. The boy says a very polite ‘yes?’, Niall asks his name, and he replies with a chuckle and a deep response of:

“I’m Harry. Who’re you?”

His voice is a little like melted chocolate and Louis knows he isn’t allowed any of it.

“I’m Niall. This is Louis, right here.” Soft fingers touch Louis’ shoulder, and Louis sets his chin back on his knees, closing his eyes and stifling a groan. Niall is too much sometimes – a lot of times, really. He does not want to turn around, because Niall is right: Harry is cute, handsome, even, and Louis is…he’s Louis. He isn’t not up to comparison.

“Hi, Niall,” Harry greets, tone all lovely, and Louis can hear the smile that laces his slow voice. He pauses for a moment and clears his throat, and the only distinct sound he can hear other than that is Harry’s camera as he messes with it. In a whisper that is hushed and hesitant, he adds a quick, “tell Louis I say hi.”

“Cheers, mate.” Niall whips back around and cuffs Louis in the back, who only manages to hiss at him once more. Niall, as always, laughs it off, leaning into him like he can’t see how Louis leans away. In an excitedly hushed tone, mimicking that of a schoolgirl, he giggles out a, “Harry says hello. You should say hi.”

Louis flushes, covering his face so that his best mate can’t find anything to laugh at. He doesn’t _like_ presenting himself in front of other people. He doesn’t like not knowing how he’s judged. If he can’t find any good qualities in himself, how can anyone else? Niall had always been different; on the first day of freshman year, Niall had approached Louis like they’d been friends since preschool. Trust is a big thing in Louis’ book, and if Niall had given Louis his own within the first few minute of meeting, then it was only fair that Louis gave Niall the same, or at least as much as he would allow himself to give.

He sighs, combing his fingers through his thick hair and looking up at the strands he ended up pulling far from his scalp. He says nothing else, only listening to another cough from somewhere behind him and feeling his cheeks heat up even more.

“Ooh, I see a red face,” Niall whispers, rocking from side to side and shoving himself into Louis. Louis produces a shy laugh despite his slight annoyance and the rumbling of his belly, and he topples to the side anyway, knocking over his container full of bananas. They fall into the grass and end up partially sheathed by dark dirt, and Louis simply picks up the container and seals the lid. It’s okay.

He wasn’t going to finish them.

(Niall and Louis laugh as they joke and watch new students enter and exit the head office building. From behind them, nothing is heard but the sound of Harry’s camera as a picture is taken, and an occasional chuckle from when Niall decides to say something corny and stupid.)

                                                                                                **//**

                Louis’ alarm clock vibrates beside his head, and, with a helpless cry, he cuts it off and sighs deeply into his pillow. For a moment, like every morning, he wonders exactly why he gets up at five-thirty when his day never really starts until eight, but as consciousness seeps further into his bones and as he realizes that this is the real deal, that Uni officially starts today, his eyes open and he slips out of bed.

He tiptoes around Niall, who is splayed out underneath the sheets of his own bed, and hunches down in front of his dresser, searching for too-tight-on-the-waist shorts and a too-big, long-sleeved T-shirt for him to go jogging in. He changes in the bathroom even though he very well knows that Niall most likely won’t wake up at all until noon, his back turned to the mirror. He makes sure everything is covered up – hips, thighs, wrists, and all – before he brushes his teeth, heads out the bathroom, and pulls on his sneakers.

He grabs Niall’s phone and sets the boy’s alarm clock, having memorized his class schedule as well as his own – if he hadn’t, Niall would’ve been helpless. He leans against the wall as he fixes an alarm for nine o’clock, and as he sets the phone back on Niall’s dresser, the lad stirs, groaning and readjusting his head on his pillow.

“Go’n runnin’?” he slurs after a long yawn, and Louis nods his head, twisting his pointer finger around the hem of his shirt.

“Yeah, Ni,” he whispers, “I’ll be back in a little while. I set your alarm for nine so you aren’t late to your class. There’re frozen waffles in the freezer for breakfast, but then you need to go shopping. I wrote a list and put it on the fridge.”

“Thanks, bro,” Niall grunts, and he turns around so that his back is to Louis, wrapping himself up tighter in his sheets. “Be careful, yeah? Make sure you get something to eat before-” he yawns again, “-class.”

“Goodbye, Niall,” Louis sighs, licking his lips because he can’t make any promises that he will eat. He always feels terrible that Niall isn’t aware of the fact that he doesn’t eat, but at the same time, he’s a little proud that he knows how to work his way around a proper meal when all his best friend does is eat.

“Love you, Lou,” Niall babbles, and then there’s a loud snore, and Louis takes it as his cue to leave. His legs ache as he makes his way out the door and down the hallway, and he is quiet because almost everyone is still sleeping. Classes never start before seven o’clock, and only the early birds rise to get coffee or a cup of tea from the cafeteria.

Louis pulls open the door of the dormitory hall, stepping outside. The air is humid, but a wind that promises autumn blows and causes Louis’ hair to fly in his face. Tying his hair back with one of the hair ties he’d stolen from one of his sisters two years ago, he tucks his bangs behind his ears and begins to jog.

He always jogs down the street and toward the actual campus buildings, where he makes a full lap around the perimeter, following the path that weaves around woods and parks. Sometimes people join him, but Louis has never been one to tag along and make conversation with them, usually slowing down while they pressed forward. He likes to keep to himself as he runs, has always liked it like that, his determination being what always shuts him out.

He needs to keep himself focused, though, and running alongside people who are so pretty and thin only makes him feel worse instead of giving him the willpower he needs. Insults are what work; insults towards his body and how he handled himself, how he was _such a weird fatass_ and how _no one’s going to pay him any mind in college_. He wants to live up to be greater than what had always been written on his skin, than what had always been said of him in whispers as he’d walked down the school hallways.

Louis’ legs grow tired and he gets hot too quickly, but he persists, jogging past the small tea shop he’ll show up at in just a little while, up the hill that leads to the building of education, and through the park that is empty aside from the few birds and squirrels that pick up left over chips and trail mix.

The air is hot and muggy on his face and he feels a little like he can take off and fly if he gives himself a good enough takeoff, but he can’t go any faster than the pace he’s already at. He wants to float and be weightless, but for now he’ll have to stay close to the ground.

It takes Louis thirty minutes to make his way across the campus, alternating between jogging, walking, and leaning against the wall of the closest building because he keeps seeing white flashes behind his eyes  when he inhales too deeply. By the time he gets back to his dorm another forty-five minutes later, his entire body is aching. His shirt clings to his back with sweat and his shorts feel like they’re suffocating him from the waist. He can’t _breathe_ , but it’s okay, because it only means he’s doing something right.

Louis presses his forehead against the cool metal door of his dorm room, fumbling with the key he’d stashed in his pocket before his run. His fingers slip around the small key, his palms clammy and his dainty fingers shaking, and when he finally gets the door open, he’s greeted by two water bottles that stand right at his feet.

He toes off his shoes and bends down to get a bottle, his knees buckling a little as he straightens back up. He leans against a wall as he swallows down the water (he didn’t trust his body at all to keep him upright anymore), nearly forgetting that he has to in fact _breathe_ , but that isn’t quite important. He chugs down the first bottle and then most of the second, and that seems to be enough to satisfy his stomach for the time being. He tosses the empty bottle into the trashcan that sits against the wall, sipping the other one as he closes the door.

When he checks on Niall, he finds the boy back in bed, his eyes closed and his lips parted. Louis silently gets his clothes for the day, rummaging through Niall’s closet for a sweater to wear. Gathering a light blue one along with a pair of his own dark jeans, he heads to their shared bathroom, starting the shower while he wriggles out of his sweaty clothes.

He doesn’t spare a glance at himself in the mirror, already knowing what he will find. He knows he looked tired because he always _is_ , especially after a run. He knows that his face reflects his exhaustion perfectly. He’s sweaty and pale and shaky, his cheeks having lost color instead of filling with a red flush like they’re supposed to. The words on his body are faded after several showers, and tomorrow night he will rewrite them all over again in the serenity of his usually empty dorm room.

Louis steps into the shower and supports himself against the cold tile of the wall, letting warm water pelt his back while the soothing porcelain calms the unrelenting pounding of his head. He slowly washes himself, ridding himself of the sweat and grime he can actually get off. What he can’t ever seem to remove is what he tries not to think about. He runs the thinning bar of soap along his ribcage and chest and arms, washing his hair quickly before turning off the water.

He dresses, brushes his teeth again, and properly does his hair in a quick fifteen minutes, focusing in on his eyes in the mirror. The bathroom is foggy and steamy and Louis can’t really breathe again, but stepping out with his damp towel in his hand gives him the accessibility to do so.

He takes his time packing his school bag, making sure he has enough supplies to get him through the few classes he has that day. Nervousness doesn’t fail to seep into his veins, because even though he’s a sophomore and has gone through this same process before, he can’t say he knows exactly what to expect. There will be new people, new opinions, and new judgment. Louis sighs. He places the straps of his bags onto his shoulders and pockets his necessities before slipping on his shoes.

“I’m off, Ni,” he states, and after receiving his usual grunt of a response, Louis leaves his dorm for the second time.


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely comments :) You all know exactly what I'm going for. Enjoy x.

The tea shop Louis goes to is a small, quaint café that was formerly called _Tea Amo_ before it was changed because so many people didn’t understand what it’d meant. That’s what Louis has heard, anyway, but now it’s just called _Jenna’s_ , who is the owner of the place, a sweet, tiny lady with hair that’s almost always in a long braid that nearly falls to her waist. It’s always warm, _Jenna’s_ ; only the friendliest of quiet kids work there, and the same people are there all the time, in the same spots, doing the same things.

Louis quickly receives greetings as he opens the door to the café, and he offers them all small, stiff smiles and a quiet proclamation of ‘hey’ that can hardly be heard over the sound of the bell that noisily jingles as he closes the door behind him. He weaves his way around chairs that aren’t all the way pushed in and tables that are littered slightly askew, making his way to the counter and purposefully ignoring the plate of lukewarm cookies that taunt him from beside the cash register.

“One moment, please!” Someone calls loudly from the back of the shop, where Louis guesses the supplies are stored, and he shifts his feet, nodding his head like the disembodied voice can possibly see him. The smell of the cookies almost has Louis’ nose stinging, and he gags a little, inching a finger along the slick, spotless countertop to push the plate just a little further away from him. If it falls onto the floor, even, that’ll be good, too, maybe even better.

“Would you like one? Jenna says they’re fifty cents each, but I’ll sneak one to you for free.” That same voice is back again, only louder and laced with mischievousness, and Louis quickly glances up, placing his hand into his back pocket. He gives the person a shy smile and shakes his head, his cheeks hardly having time to grow _hot hot hot_ before he realizes that the cashier is someone he’s seen.

His name is Harry, Louis remembers – the boy with the camera and clothes that didn’t match. Today he has on a yellow sweater under a purple- and white-striped apron, black jeans and black shoes covering his lower half while a red and blue headscarf is situated in his curls. He still looks good, albeit a little silly, and Louis finds himself shifting his feet again, an unsettling feeling in his tummy like when he knows he’s going to throw up.

“No, thanks, I don’t want one,” Louis mumbles, licking his lips before glancing up at the menu. He already knows what he wants from it – he always gets the same thing – but he wants something to distract him from the velvet voice and strawberry-colored lips. “Where’s Jenna?” He asks, because he’s never seen Harry working at the café before. When Jenna is there, she always knows what to get him before he even gets all the way through the door. Louis doesn’t particularly want to have to go through his order.

Across the counter, Harry noticeably bites at the inside of his cheek, fiddling with the sleeves of his sweater and folding the ends up so that they stay at his wrists. “She’s with her daughter, who has primary school orientation today. That’s what she told me. She’ll be back a little later, though.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” Louis hums, looking down at his feet. “Well, can I get a small tea? Just plain, please, no sugar or cream or anything.” He knows the suggestion is weird, and the look Harry gives him confirms just that. He presses his lips into a tight line and holds his hands in front of himself, absentmindedly rubbing his ankle with his opposite foot while he pulls at his fingers. “Please?”

“Yes,” Harry answers quickly, smiling and nodding his head. He turns away and fiddles around with a few things Louis can’t see well. “You can take a seat if you’d like, and I’ll bring your tea out to you. Sorry everything’s a bit of a mess. Jenna sort of just handed me the keys last night when we closed up, and I had to get ready for today so I couldn’t stay long this morning, but I’ll get it nice and clean in a moment.”

Louis nods, turning away and heading to one of the empty tables. He sits down and crosses his ankles, pulling out his phone and scrolling mindlessly through his contacts so he at least looks like he’s doing something productive.

He tries not to turn around when he hears that chocolate voice of Harry’s as he sings and attends to Louis’ tea. Everyone around him disregards Harry’s singing with a smile, so Louis thinks it’s only appropriate that he does the same. It isn’t very hard.

Harry is squirming his way from behind the counter two minutes later, and he carries Louis’ tea in one hand and balled up napkins in the other. “Here you go,” he says, and Louis reaches out to grab for the cup, but Harry swiftly sets both things down in front of him. The napkins unfold, and a cookie is in it along with two packs of sweetener. “I didn’t know if you maybe wanted some sugar, ‘cos your tea is all plain,” he explains, tugging at the corner of his lower lip with his teeth. “You don’t have to pay for the cookie.”

_Don’t._

Louis gapes at Harry, feeling his ears burn uncomfortably. This is insultingly embarrassing; why is Harry giving him a cookie? It’s everything he doesn’t need, this cookie, and the fact that it had been given to him has him angry, _angry_ and disgusted with himself. He looks down at his tea and feels his eyesight blur, and he pushes the napkin to the other end of the table. He then digs into his pocket and pulls out a couple pounds, dropping it onto the table before scooting back and standing up.

“I didn’t want anything, thanks,” he mumbles, taking his cup. It’s hot and it burns his palms a little through the thermal plastic, but Louis is burning all over, so he can’t really feel a significant difference. “Thanks,” he repeats, pushing in his chair with his hip before leaving. He doesn’t look back as Harry stutters out something unclear, and he certainly doesn’t look back as people ask him if they’d maybe see him later.

                                                                                                **//**

                “I saw him today,” Louis blurts, cutting through the comfortable silence that fills the little kitchen nook of the dorm room. He crosses and re-crosses his legs nervously, just for something to do, and he doesn’t let up until he bumps his knee on the underside of the table, cursing under his breath as water splashes up and out of his cup. There is a plate of mashed potatoes in front of him and they’re smothered in gravy and he hasn’t felt so sick all day, and he tries not to look at it, thankful for its lack of any real odor.

He’d been able to keep Harry off of his mind through the day, but doing so didn’t improve his overall mood. He’d felt unprepared throughout all of his classes and he had homework _already_ ; an observation assignment for Psychology and a chapter to read out of his American History textbook. It is not as stressful as he knows it will build up to be in about a month, but it’s still a lot he just _doesn’t want to do_.

“You saw who?” Niall asks. He sits across from Louis with his phone in his hand, scrolling through whatever he’s always scrolling through. He glances up at Louis and then down at his untouched plate, and then up again. He doesn’t say anything, like always, because the whole thing is teetering on the edge of normal by now.

“The Harry guy. He works at _Jenna’s_ now.”

“Why did you say it like that?”

“Like what?” Louis jabs his fork into his mashed potatoes and spreads the food out over his plate, his stomach twisting up. He contemplates eating a bite, although the thought is quickly turned down as he sees that his potatoes are _completely_ caked in gooey, salty, fattening, brown sauce. He doesn’t even really need to eat. He’d had his tea and then some grapes for lunch, as well as a piece of toast. He’d gone on a run an hour before Niall got home. “I was just telling you.”

Niall chuckles, sets his phone down, and takes another bite of his mashed potatoes. They’re instantly made, and Louis knows it probably tastes good even though he hasn’t had instant anything in the longest time. “You said it like you hate him, or something.  Was he really that bad the other day? I like him.”

“He’s, like. He’s not bad or anything,” Louis sighs, swirling his fork in through his food so it turns into an even nastier mess on his plate. He never tells Niall these things; they are too personal and he wouldn’t understand. Who _would_ understand that Louis doesn’t quite like him because he gave him a cookie? “I don’t know. He’s pretty cool, I guess. Pretty cute.”

Niall giggles and Louis manages a small smile, giving his food one last poke before leaving it alone. Niall doesn’t ask why he doesn’t eat dinner anymore. Louis always gives him the same answers: _I ate earlier_ or _I don’t feel very well right now, but I’ll probably get something later tonight_. He’s never eaten earlier and he certainly never gets anything later, though.

“Pretty cute, huh? Maybe you should talk to him some more.” Niall is excitedly suggestive like he always is when Louis and boys are in the same equation. It’s hardly ever necessary. Louis hardly ever cares. “You go to _Jenna’s_ every day. Flirt with him a little.”

“I don’t think so,” Louis whispers, feeling his face heat up. He clears his throat and takes a sip of his water, and that is it. He’s done with the topic. “Are you going out tonight?” He asks in a tone that he prays doesn’t sound too hopeful. Louis has his own things to do. While Niall has his life, Louis has his Sharpie marker and a fully-functioning scale.

“Uh, yeah, I was going to, if that’s okay. Just for a little while.” Niall bares his perfectly white toothed grin, scooping the last of his food up and into his mouth. He stands up and reaches out to grab Louis’ plate along with his. “I’ll put yours in the microwave,” he says very quietly, and Louis murmurs his thanks.

“Yeah, of course, Ni,” he says next. “I’m going to bed early, I think. I’m…pretty tired.” Louis gets up and his legs feel a little numb, shaking and weak, and it isn’t very concerning. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, and when he opens them, Niall is away and in the kitchen, quickly cleaning up. “Yeah, I’m going to bed,” he finalizes.

                                                                                                **//**

                (Louis weighs himself that night. He is ninety-eight pounds and two ounces, seven stone on the dot, and this is better than it had been last week, when he was ninety-nine and five ounces. A strong wave of pride washes over him and he breathes a sigh of relief, stepping off of the scale and watching the numbers blink bright blue before disappearing altogether.

He is still ninety-eight pounds and two ounces overweight.)

                                                                                                **//**

                Louis’ routine is like clockwork. It repeats over and over, and, except for the days his classes start at different times, he does the same things every day. He likes it this way; it means that there are no surprises. He can avoid eating to no end, and there are no sudden changes in plans.

He goes on his run like every morning, and before he leaves for _Jenna’s_ , he packs a little plastic bag of sliced cucumbers. Niall is awake as he pulls on his shoes, on his laptop, sitting on his bed with a bowl of cereal balancing on his knee.

“Are you going to see Harry?” He teases, stirring his spoon through his cereal as he clicks through the work on his computer. Louis scoffs and shakes his head, throwing a misplaced sock onto Niall’s bed, aiming for his cereal but ultimately striking his feet.

“Absolutely not,” he answers, and he _isn’t_ , because he has to stop letting people like Harry get to him. He told himself that four years ago, that he absolutely cannot and will not let anything but his own words and actions get to him. He’s working on it. Louis shoulders his school bag and grabs his necessities before bidding Niall goodbye and leaving.

Louis prefers walking over driving. He has a car, which he got as a graduation present, but it stays parked except for when it rains or when he is just too exhausted to pick up his feet. It makes for good exercise, though, walking, and today is another nice day, so he follows the path of other unidentifiable students and starts his day.

He doesn’t talk to anyone as he walks. Everyone is occupied, anyway, eyeing notes as papers sit in their hands or speaking quietly into their phones. Louis stares at his shoes. He is certainly quieter than he used to be, and he can’t say that he misses how he was. Life is easier this way, he _knows_ it is. This way, he doesn’t have to worry about anyone but himself. He knew that when he first decided that he was going to shut himself out.

 _Jenna’s_ is busier today, and Jenna herself is actually there, which has a small weight lifting off of Louis’ shoulders that he didn’t even know was there. Louis waves at the owner and she waves back, gesturing him over to the counter. He nods and holds up a finger, _one second_ , finding a chair and tossing his bag into the seat. He then moves around the tables filled with excitedly-chattering college students, some of them with open textbooks, and some of them Skyping with other people.

“Good morning,” he greets when he gets to the counter, leaning his elbows against the coolness of it. He’s known Jenna since last year, like Niall, and she doesn’t ask many questions, like Niall, especially those regarding Louis’ personal life, which Louis loves. “I was told that your daughter started school yesterday.”

“She did,” Jenna beams, flipping her one braid over her shoulder. She turns to get started on Louis’ tea, plucking a thermal cup from the stack of them that sits beside the cash register. “She couldn’t wait to go back this morning. Harry took over; he was here yesterday. What a handsome guy, yeah? He just started last week.”

Louis shifts his feet, feeling his cheeks flame. He finds himself chuckling, though, cocking his head to the side with an incredulous expression. He can be a little goofy around her, simply because she is much older and has much more serious things to deal with than a college sophomore who is wrong in all the obvious places. “Jenna, you’re _married_ ,” he teases, biting his lip.

“Oh, I know, but I know someone who isn’t,” she muses, giving Louis a look that has him rolling his eyes. She laughs, but not at Louis, Louis knows. She’s never laughed at Louis. “Have a seat, doll, I’ll bring your tea out to you.”

Louis nods and makes his way to his table, pulling out his cucumber slices. His ankles are crossed underneath his chair, and he just watches, enjoying the noises that distract him and keep him away from the center of attention.

Jenna brings out his tea a few minutes later, minus any treats or sugar packets, which Louis appreciates. He thanks her and she ruffles his hair before taking off back behind the counter. All of two seconds later, the quiet chattering of the other customers is interrupted by her loud, thick accent. “Harry, these tables need to be cleaned!” she yells, attracting stares from at least half of the people in the café, and Louis immediately puts his head down.

“Yes, ma’am,” Harry says, and Louis glances up only so he can see him come out of the back room. He has a beanie on his head and a washcloth in his hand, and he quickly starts wiping down tables as soon as he gets to them, greeting the customers with a smile and excusing himself politely.

Louis can’t make himself disappear like he wants to, so he settles for hoping that he’s small enough to avoid the attention. He sips his tea and observes the dimples that crater Harry’s cheeks when he smiles a certain way. He watches how he shimmies his way between chairs instead of asking people to scoot in, narrow hips squeezing past as light giggles leave his lips. Louis almost smiles at the quirks of this boy, but then Harry is coming near him, wiping tables as he passes.

Louis is already self-conscious. He feels like his shirt is too tight around his belly even though it is a size too big, and, God, he is eating too much, he is – he should have skipped the cucumbers even though he’d woken up feeling as if he couldn’t get out of bed. If he’d have known he’d run into Harry again, he would have cut out breakfast from his day. His legs twitch underneath the table and he wants to leave, but he stays put, looking at anything but Harry.

“Hey,” the boy greets, folding up his washcloth. He pulls napkins from the pocket of his apron and replaces he nearly empty napkin-holder, smiling shyly. “You’re back,” he says next, and Louis nods, remains looking away, and sips his tea.

“I come here every day,” he says quietly, and he sees Harry nod out of the corner of his eye, messing with the frayed ends of his washcloth. “You work here now?” He asks while, simultaneously, Harry asks if his name is Louis like he remembers it being.

They both answer yes and Harry snorts out a laugh, a noise so funny that Louis can’t help but to laugh along with him. He places a cucumber on his tongue and chews it while Harry pushes in a chair when a young woman gets up and forgets to do so herself. He tells her to have a nice day.

“Hey,” he repeats long after Louis has swallowed and long after the woman has left, and Louis stares at him, about to greet him back once more. “I’m sorry about yesterday,” he whispers, and Louis shakes his head, picking at the plastic of his cup. “I didn’t mean to, like, try and give you anything you–”

“I’m just trying to avoid sweets,” Louis quickly says. It isn’t a total lie. He is trying to avoid sweets, yeah, but he’s also trying to avoid everything else. He’s blushing hard and he has that sick feeling in his belly again, but all he does is fiddle with his fingers where they’re wrapped around his cup of tea. “That’s all.”

“I understand.” Harry smiles, although his eyebrows are knitted together. It’s an odd expression, and Louis simply nods, looking down.. Harry’s fingers twitch, and after a while, he tucks his washrag into the pocket of his apron and points to the seat across from Louis. “Can I sit here?” He asks, lip worried between his teeth.

_Don’t._

Louis fastens his lips into a tight line and nods once more, dragging his schoolbag closer to his feet from where it sits on the floor. He figures it’s too late to back out when Harry takes a seat and smiles brightly at him. “I,” Louis starts, knowing that if he doesn’t start up some conversation, he’ll end up not saying a word, “guess you go to uni here?”

“Yeah.” Harry’s eyes rake over Louis in a way that makes him extremely uncomfortable. They start at the top of his head, and then they descend all the way down to the half empty Ziploc bag of cucumbers, unrelenting although gentle. The green of them seem to soften into something light and unintimidating after a while, and he speaks again, but his eyes stay secure on Louis. “I’m a freshman. What year are you in?”

Louis’ fingers shake and he curls in on himself, closing his eyes. He feels hot, and it’s beyond a blush – it is sheer humility. It feels like all the eyes in the room are on him – is he taking up too much space? Is he being too loud? He ignores Harry’s question, ducking his head. He doesn’t want Harry to stare at him like he is just now seeing what everyone else sees. _Staring._ Why is he _staring_? “Please stop,” he whispers, voice shaking.

“Stop?” Harry sounds surprised, but Louis doesn’t check to see if his tone matches his expression. He hears Harry’s chair move, feels feet bumping his. He’s getting closer when Louis just wants to get away. “Louis, I’m sorry, hey.  Louis.”

“I should get ready to go to class.” Louis scratches the back of his head and places what is left of his food in his book bag. He doesn’t look at Harry as he gets up, grasping the back of his chair as he pushes it in. “Thank you for, um, sitting with me? You should get back to work. Sorry for keeping you.”

He isn’t sure how he manages to apologize and thank Harry for the same thing, but Harry seems to catch on to it. He stands, too, his head tilted far to the side. “You didn’t keep me. I’ll be leaving for class in a little bit, too. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Louis knows he shouldn’t. He follows his routine, though, and every morning, he is here. He doesn’t nod, but he allows his gaze to flit up to Harry. The boy is smiling, although it holds something like reluctance. His green eyes are no longer staring as intently as they were before. It’s only a gaze, soft and pretty.

“Bye, Harry,” he says, turning around. He shuffles out of the shop, figuring he’ll go back home since his class doesn’t begin for another hour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think? Much appreciated! x. Please excuse the end note below this one; I've no clue why it's still there :).


	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies that this chapter came a little later than usual. I hope you enjoy it regardless :) TRIGGER WARNING: there is a small bit of bulimic actions in this chapter.

By the time the first and second day of school wind down into the end of the first week, Louis is confident about his schedule. He can get Niall out of the house when he needs to, which is only late at night, when things tend to get bad. His classes are manageable enough, and the coffee shop is always a way to get his head on straight, especially when a certain boy can distract him so wonderfully.

Somewhere in the week, he’d ended up with a permanent companion for breakfast. Whether he enjoys Harry’s company or not, he isn’t sure, but he is taking what he is given. Harry is around more times than he isn’t, anyway, finding him at the door on some days, and other days leaving a cup of his tea on the counter while he works in the back. The cup will sometimes read his order – “plain tea no nothing” – while sometimes it reads Louis’ name and a smiley face.

Somewhere in the week, Louis had started greeting Harry with attentive eyes and a smile, even the occasional wave. It’s new; it’s weird, and it’s bad, but it gives him a nice feeling, so Louis allows it to be the one thing he does regardless of his nagging brain.

The following Monday, he isn’t surprised when he finds himself at the café late in the afternoon. He usually goes straight home, does his homework, and then runs, but his reason for going back is unknown. He expects to see Harry, but he tells himself that if he isn’t greeted at the door by the boy, he won’t be upset. He is nervous, though, as he wipes his palms on his pant legs. His stomach has that feeling again and he doesn’t want to do this even though he does.

His throat is dry as he opens the door, the ringing of the welcome bell distant in his ears. The shop is all but completely empty; a man who might be a professor sits in a booth, grading something that might be essays. Other than that, it is empty.

Louis bites at his lower lip, standing in the threshold of the café. It’s eerily silent, and he feels a little frozen, like he is wearing nothing but the tattered shoes on his feet. The possible professor looks up and raises an eyebrow, and that’s when Louis puts his head down, feeling hot and uncomfortable. He’d directed too much attention to himself, like always.

“Hey, Louis,” Harry says, quickly pulling Louis out of the fog that’s beginning to cloud his head. Louis looks up and steps in like Harry’s voice is a magnet, a blush on his cheeks that is more comfortable than it’s been in a while. Harry has his head poking out of the back room and his bangs are tied up in a funny ponytail. “You here for some tea?”

“Hi, Harry,” Louis says softly, lacing his fingers together and holding them down in front of himself. He makes his way up to the counter with his head low. He almost apologizes to the man in the booth, like a _‘sorry for being hard to look at’_ is an acceptable way to express his regret, but he finds a way to bite his tongue immediately after nervously greeting him. “Uh, yes, please,” he mutters to Harry after a moment. Tea doesn’t seem to be the reason he came, not in the back of his head, but he’ll take it. “Um, I don’t–”

“Like usual. No cream or sugar. I’ve got it, Louis.” Harry gives him a tiny smile, and Louis melts a little bit, nodding his head and flushing a darker pink.

“Thank you.”

“We have cookies, you know,” Harry says next, maneuvering around the small space behind the cash register as he constructs Louis’ tea. “And, like, before you tell me you don’t want any, they’re fat free oatmeal cookies. I made them yesterday after class. Would you like some?”

Both Louis’ stomach and heart manage to churn simultaneously – it makes him feel like he is going to fall over. Harry hasn’t made any other advances towards giving him food since their first meeting at the _Jenna’s_ , with the cookie and sugar, and Louis hadn’t expecting one. It’s sweet, though, that Harry offers the snack. He hasn’t had anything but tea, carrot sticks, and half a bagel all day.

_Don’t._

Oatmeal cookies.

_Pathetic._

Fat free.

“Yeah, that sounds good.” Louis finds his voice small. He hasn’t accepted anything from anyone in a while, much less has he allowed himself something sweet and good like this. He’s going against every thought in his head, but he still does it because Harry is smiling so sweetly at him.

“Alright, sit. Have a seat. I’ll join you, if that’s okay?”

Louis obeys Harry and successfully doesn’t answer his question, pulling out the chair that belongs to the table closest to the cash register and sitting down. His bag full of schoolwork sits at his feet, nearly forgotten.

He and Harry have established a few things since Monday. Louis is ‘shy’, which had been questioned of him when he hadn’t looked up from the small crack in the table a single time as they chatted. That had been on Wednesday. On Thursday, Harry told Louis that he was a freshman and that he was only working at the café to help pay the rent he shared with his roommate. On Friday, Louis hadn’t even shown up until late in the afternoon, having told Harry he had run late when he had really been shaking in his bathroom, weighing nearly a pound more. That afternoon, Harry admitted that he’d missed seeing Louis in the morning, and Louis hadn’t answered him with anything other than a forced smile. The weekend was filled with corny jokes and warm tea as Harry had to get up every few minutes to tend to a customer.

“Two oatmeal cookies and a cup of hot tea for you, Lou,” Harry announces, throwing himself down into the seat across from Louis and sliding his food in front of him. His eyes widen with that genuine, true curiosity, and he says, super kindly, “how are you?”

“I’m well,” Louis murmurs, clearing his throat. He sips his tea once it’s in his hand, the burn on his tongue greater than the feeling in his belly. He gives Harry a smile and picks at the little purple napkin that his cookies sit on. “These look good.”

“Yeah? Try one.” Harry toys with the hair tie that holds his curls back and pulls it loose, letting his bangs fall and frame his face. “I put them out yesterday, but not many people bought any. I guess it’s the whole fat free thing, but I figured you’d like them.”

Louis smiles again. He likes this; Harry does most the talking, just like Niall does. “So, you, like. You made them for me?” he asks timidly, breaking off an edge of his cookie. He can’t see Harry’s nod. He looks away, over at the possible professor, and he eats it, feeling his stomach grapple helplessly for the food. It’s good, but Louis feels wrong, so he quickly swallows and pushes the napkin towards Harry with his lips pressed tightly together.

“I like them,” he tells him, simply and shortly and with a small smile. Harry’s eyebrows knit together and he frowns like he is about to protest, but Louis quickly thinks of something more to say. “Is baking all you do? What about that camera you had last week?”

“Uh.” Harry blinks down at the cookies and then up at Louis, his face flushing a soft red. “I take pictures, yeah. It’s for a workshop I applied to before I graduated last year. It’s really fun, actually. We take pictures and then elaborate what’s happening in them, beyond what you can clearly already see.”

Louis hums, acknowledging, glad that he has found a loophole in the conversation. He wants to guide the chatting in any direction other than to the topic of food. “Really? What do you take pictures of?”

Harry chuckles then, pulling a bright pink bottom lip between his teeth. “Beautiful things,” he whispers, and Louis fights the temptation to swoon. His eyes are bright and he is seemingly glowing, but maybe that’s just the way his back faces the wide windows at the front of the café, letting in the remaining sunlight as it disappears for the day.  “I take pictures of beautiful things.”

It’s silent for a bit after that, where Louis just sips his tea and tries to look away. Harry’s focus stays on him, and it makes Louis uncomfortable enough to want to scream and cry all at once. The only thing that’s truly audible is the air conditioner and the other man as he flips pages, but Louis can hear his heartbeat in his ears.

“What beautiful things do you take pictures of?” he inquires instead, his voice trembling. He is taking things a step further, asking question after question. For once, he is caring about whether or not things turn awkward. He doesn’t want to be awkward in front of Harry. He sips his tea again, drinking it constantly just for something to do. His small cup is almost empty. “Pretty women and…and flowers? Newborn babies? Stuff like that?”

Harry shrugs. “Anything I find pretty, I guess. Like, maybe it’s a garden, or- or maybe a couple having lunch. I ask them, of course.” He smiles sheepishly, looking up at the ceiling like he is embarrassed with himself. “I don’t take pictures without their permission.”

Louis reaches out and touches Harry’s hand once, a soft pat that’s followed along by a kind smile. It is a spur-of-the-moment action, but he doesn’t regret it as quickly. He pulls away hastily enough, though, taking another long sip from his cup – his last sip. Pushing it aside with the cookies he’s not going to allow himself to have any more of, he leans forward because he’d learned in a body language course last year that doing so means one’s interested.

Louis, believe it or not, and much to his own surprise, is interested.

“Will – would you- do you think I could see some of your pictures?” he asks, and, well. He’s on a bit of a roll. “The really good ones?”

“Yeah, if you want, of course,” Harry says nonchalantly, locking eyes with Louis and pinching at his top lip with two fingers. He looks concentrated for a moment before his eyebrows shoot skyward. “Do you want to go on a date with me, Louis?”

Louis’ heart does a thing that’s torn between a leap of excitement and then one of terror. He sinks his teeth into the inside of his cheek so hard that he tastes blood and feels broken skin. His fingers twitch with nerves. He doesn’t go on dates. Niall has tried before to get him to date; countless attempts to get Louis out of his mind for a bit. They never ended well. Louis either completely shut out whomever the unlucky guy happened to be, or they found a reason to lose his number or forget to stop by.

Louis has an inkling that this date would flow the exact same way. Squirming in his seat and glancing at anything but Harry, he clears his throat. “Isn’t this technically a date?” He can only hope to efficiently stall. “What with, like, the tea and stuff.”

“I suppose it is.” Harry scratches at his forehead, shrugging again. When he speaks, his voice is lowered and laced with amusement.  He is clearly unfathomed by Louis’ hesitation. “But that guy is here, so that wouldn’t make it much of a date. I mean, like, I want to go on a real one. Would you want to go on a real one with me?”

Louis taps his fingers along the table. Then he shuffles his feet. Then he peels off the paper that’s wrapped around his empty cup, tearing it into little pieces. When there is absolutely nothing else to do, he looks at Harry, eyes a little pleading. Harry is still waiting for an answer.

“I don’t know, Harry,” is what he finally answers with, feeling his cheeks heat up familiarly. He doesn’t even know why Harry wants to go out with him – it would be bad for the both of them. “I’m not- I don’t think it’s the right time.”

“Okay.” If Harry is dejected, he doesn’t show it. He smiles. “Well, could I at least, uh, have your number? So we can talk outside of here. If you want.”

Louis finds himself nodding, patting around his pockets before pulling out his phone. Sliding it across the table, he lets Harry put in his number, and for a quick moment, he thinks about how this has to be the riskiest thing he’s ever done.

                                                                                                **//**

                Louis is crying. Rather, he is sobbing, back pressed against the thin wall of his bedroom, head tilted back so he can keep the tears in. His arms cradle his stomach, legs pressed so far up to his chest that it hurts, but he stays curled up, thinking over his shitty evening.

Niall is gone like he always is at this time, when all classes are let out and everyone is free. Eleven o’clock has always been too late for Louis to want to go out, especially on a weekday, so he has never accompanied Niall on his trips to bars or friends’ houses. Thank goodness he is in fact gone, and thank goodness he won’t be back until Louis had long since been back in a stable state.

He regrets everything about his day except for the pocket of time where he’d been with Harry. That had been nice, as he thinks about it, and as much as he wants to let that memory consume him, the weight of everything else – the weight of _himself_ – has him choking on another sob.

As if feeling guilty over the cookie he’d eaten wasn’t quite enough, he’d let himself have a slice of the green pepper and mushroom pizza Niall had brought home earlier in the evening. It had been a small piece; the smallest in the box, Louis had made sure of it. But after his shower he’d accidentally stolen a glance of himself in his foggy mirror.

He hadn’t liked it.

Louis lets out another cry, wincing soon after, because it’s just so _ugly_ , the tears and the hiccupping and the splotchy cheeks. The dorm room is completely silent except for that, and even as Louis tries to bite the sobs back, they only break free alongside the skin on his bottom lip, louder and more miserable sounding.

Uncoiling, Louis stretches out his legs and holds out his arms, sniffling messily and turning his head to wipe his cheek on his bare shoulder. His arms are fat and his thighs don’t have nearly the space between them as wanted them to. He makes a noise that is closer to a growl than it is a whimper before he scratches at his skin, nails hesitating against what he wishes was beautiful tan.

It hurts, is the thing – his skin catches and turns red immediately after the contact, but he can’t see much through the tears, choking and gasping his way through the pain. He scratches at his thighs and his arms and his belly, marking over the words that he’d rewritten not long ago. He can’t scratch off everything he hates like he wishes he can: the scars from smaller, ancient accidents remain as do pale splotches of skin that the sun never sees.

He’s asked himself why he scratches numerous times in the aftermath, and he can never think of any answer other than because he deserves it. He’d done wrong and he can’t undo it, and he doesn’t want to let the notion slip by that he’d messed up.

Louis doesn’t stop scratching until he can’t get to any skin that isn’t already on fire, and when he is sure he is bleeding in several places, he curls up again, trying to avoid salty tears falling on his welts with only a little effort. He cries until he can’t identify whether his pain is coming from within his chest or on the exterior of his limbs, and until everything in his head goes a little numb.

He comes to the hazy conclusion that he’ll make it through this little slip up – he’ll avoid eating anything for a few days, and then he’ll be able to resume his routine.

Standing up and ignoring the insistent burning of his minor injuries, Louis sulks into the bathroom and leans over the toilet, wedging a hesitant finger past his teeth and nudging at his uvula, waiting for whatever food that hadn’t digested to come back up.

It doesn’t.

Prodding harder at the back of his throat, Louis feels more tears stinging the corners of his eyes. Throwing up is what he hates the most, so he does it only rarely, wanting to avoid the feeling. It’s icky and it hurts and it leaves Louis feeling like all of his emotions have been spit out into the toilet as well. Louis gags himself until something finally comes up, brown and gross and unmistakably chewed up pizza crust. Louis runs his clean hand through his hair and flushes down the food along with the tears that he thought had stopped.

He doesn’t think they’ve _ever_ , _really_ stopped.

When he makes it to his bed, he checks his phone, pulling it under the covers with him so that there is a little light in his cocoon. He has a message from Niall saying he’ll be home after he picks up a late snack. Louis then goes through his contacts and finds Harry’s name directly under the ‘H’ column, a little teacup emoji stuck on the end of his last name.

He smiles. 

                                                                                                **//**

                Louis dresses loosely the following morning, opting for sweats because he knows he isn’t going to look presentable even if he’d decided to wear the most expensive dress shirt in his closet. A long tee covers his arms and belly, sleeves never touching the scrapes on his arms.

He leaves Niall asleep with a set alarm before starting his walk to the café, having excluded running from his schedule. He isn’t feeling it, and he knows the discomfort that he would end up having to deal with because of his scratched thighs rubbing together. It isn’t a very pretty day, anyway; the clouds hang low and the air is chilly.

Louis doesn’t have to worry about the annoying jingle of the welcome bell at _Jenna’s_. Harry opens the door for him like he’s been waiting, holds out Louis’ tea, and gives him a friendly smile. He doesn’t have to confirm what was in it anymore, for Louis has grown to trust that. He appreciates it. “Good morning, Louis.”

Louis bites his lip and smiles back, reaching out to take the cup. He then remembers his promise to himself and awkwardly retracts it, shaking his head. “Hi, Harry. Um, I don’t- no, thanks.”

“Are you sure?” Harry asks, and his tone is as questioning as the question itself, and so is his expression. His chin is tilted down just a little, eyebrows raised. Louis doesn’t answer, doesn’t even look at him, and after a silent moment, Harry says, “alright.”

Louis offers him a grateful smile and then looks around the shop, seeing a few of the same people he has always seen. He sits in the corner of the shop in a little booth while Harry goes to tend to a customer,  pulling out a napkin from its holder and folding it as many times as he can.

“I was sort of hoping you’d give me a call, you know,” Harry says after a time interval of three minutes, and when Louis looks up, Harry is at the booth right in front of him, wiping it from its coffee puddles and muffin crumbs. He has a shy grin that allows his dimples to display. He doesn’t sound accusing at all; just factual. “I missed you.”

Louis wrinkles his nose and chuckles, tearing his napkin in half. He can never find proper answers to Harry’s comments like these. “It completely slipped my mind, Harry, I’m sorry. I missed you, too, though. And I’ll be sure to text you tonight.”

This is another promise he seems to make for himself, and with a steady nod of his head, the deal is set in his mind. He thinks he could use something to keep his mind off of the pain in his stomach and the burn on his skin. Harry smiles back and tucks his washcloth into his pocket, slowly making his way to Louis’ booth and sitting down.

“Really? You will?”

Louis nods his head again. His brain is screaming _don’t_ , but his mouth opens with all intentions to disobey as the light in Harry’s eyes gets brighter. “Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think? I always love your comments and kudos! Find me on [Tumblr](http://admirelouis.tumblr.com/) Much love xx. (Again, please ignore the second note at the bottom of this page. This is a regular chapter.)

**Author's Note:**

> This is the re-posted version of chapter one. I had a lot of conflict going on regarding to how this was going to be written. Tell me what you think? Love x. (This was very short because it was meant to be the prologue.)


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